The Charlotte Stuff
Charlotte Ann Haney. She was it. The ultimate. She was my Granny. The most supportive, loving, big-hearted human. She’d be completely taken aback, but she taught me so much about what it means to be a teacher. She wasn’t a teacher in a classroom, but she was a natural-born educator. I didn’t realize I was doing it at the time but as I watched her, I tucked away countless details about her character- details that guide me as a teacher.
Just like so many of us, the holidays have me thinking about a special family member. When I think about going to my grandmother’s home for Christmas, I have this feeling every year in the pit of my stomach. It’s simultaneously warm and saddening. Warm because of the way she made us all feel and saddening because I think about all that my own children missed of her. I remember the jingle bells that rang as you opened her front door, the sugared gumdrops stuck to the tiny, plastic tree resting on her kitchen counter, and the giant star beaming on her front lawn. I remember the steam rising up from the chicken broth on her stove, the loaves of bread rising in a warm spot, and the sound of the candy drawer opening. But most of all, I remember how she made me feel. I remember her hospitality, her open door, the way she laughed, how she held my hand, and the way she listened to me when I spoke.
In my 14th year, I’m reflecting more and more about the students I’ve taught over the years. Of course, I hope every group takes meaning away from the lessons I teach. I remain optimistic that the projects and handouts help them understand a concept in a new way. I write units with an end goal of mastery and cross my fingers that their enthusiasm for learning bursts at the seams. I would love to know that my classroom is a place that nurtures new interests and challenges a person’s thinking. Maybe at some point, I was the teacher with the coolest new gadget or the fanciest technology. But even with all of that -all of that stuff- I’m much more hopeful for one thing over all. I’m hopeful they remember a feeling. I hope they remember the exact things that I remember about my Granny: a hospitable teacher with an open door, a loud laugh, a hand to hold, and and an attentive ear.
After she passed away, I asked my sister, brother and cousins to think of things that stood out about her. We planned to write a list of principles to share at her funeral. Our hope was that others would take something away from the day. We ended up writing 7 items we wanted to share. I look back over them often to remind myself to live as she lived- clear about the righteousness of her Maker with a heart set to serve. Three of them stand out to me specifically as a person who spends her days with children.
Listen. Listen as hard as you can. Make sure that the person you are speaking with feels important by giving them your full attention.
Go to your children and grandchildren’s events. You don’t need posters, shakers, or bells and whistles. You might think they won’t notice that you’re there or that' it’s not important. Show up. They’ll remember.
Serve others. It may be in sending a card, providing vegetables from your garden, giving a hug, holding a hand, or sharing a meal.
The list goes on but these three are like lighthouses for me when it comes to my position as a teacher. Let me be clear. Granny wasn’t perfect. She let me have it a few times when I needed it and probably several times when I didn’t. I can assure you that I have done the same as a teacher. I have disciplined students when they needed it and been overly harsh when they didn’t deserve it. Those things are going to happen. It’s human nature. But again, I still knew her intentions and her fondness for me. Oh, how I pray my students know the same.
On Christmas Eve, Granny always wore an oversized red sweatshirt with a painted Santa on its front. She wore it for so long that the flowing, white beard had faded to only small flecks of glitter. When cancer took over and she went home to be with the Lord, our family rummaged through her things looking for items that would keep her memory alive for us. I looked and looked for that sweatshirt and never found it. Each family member ended up with things that reminded us of her. We were certainly thinking they would make us feel close to her like before. Finally, after a long day of cleaning and organizing, I remember my mama saying, “It’s just stuff. It’s not her. None of these things are as special as her.”
Charlotte beamed for those that she loved. She aimed her love hard at all of us. Let us all pray that our students say the same about us one day. Quite honestly, that’s the good stuff, the stuff you want. That’s the Charlotte stuff.
